


When I Call You Come Home (A Bird In Your Teeth)

by BronteBronte



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Sex, and the best friends didn't show up and I got real bummed, forgiveness but through you know, if they were to put it on facebook it would be under "it's complicated", kind of a fwb deal, un-established relationship, written following the June 10th ep of AEW where Orange got beaten with a literal bag of oranges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BronteBronte/pseuds/BronteBronte
Summary: Chuck Taylor wasn't there to help his best friend when he needed him most, so he says sorry the best way he knows how.Written after the June 10, 2020 episode of Dynamite.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	When I Call You Come Home (A Bird In Your Teeth)

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooo boy hello friends long time no see. 
> 
> I started writing this after the June 10th episode of Dynamite, which ended with Orange Cassidy getting the shit beaten out of him with a literal bag of oranges and no one coming to help him, and then I totally forgot about it until I found it on my notes app a few days ago. So it's definitely not nearly as angsty now, and still not great, but you know, whatever, it's here, commas. This is also my first time really referencing anything vaguely explicit so just be warned I guess?
> 
> Title is from "I Know the End" by Phoebe Bridgers (which is a real bop)
> 
> Disclaimer to let you know that I'm not these people. Also side note, wouldn't be hilarious if someone left a claimer for once? Someone just saying "I am this person and this is my fanfiction?". Wild.

Orange can tell him a million times that it’s not his fault, but that doesn’t stop Chuck from lowering to his knees before him, hoping the silent prayer he says as he undoes the button on Orange’s jeans is enough to earn forgiveness.  
  
Because maybe, just maybe, he’ll break enough blood vessels beneath his skin that it will reupholster him. Let his fingertips leave the kind of bruises that fists are too quick to commit to. Cover up the marks that already decorate his flesh, replace the thread they put through his cuts so that he’s a tapestry instead of a wound. So when he walks back into the ring they won’t even recognize him, won’t try to attack or praise him, or even let him in the goddamn building. Keep him safe at home, keep him on the other side of his bed, keep him at the arm’s length that he always does.

Maybe.

He knows that he’ll never say the words out loud (“I’m sorry. I’ll be there next time. Sorry I’m such a pussy when it comes to this. I love you so much it scares me.”), so he tries to get the sentiment across the only way he knows how. Through the moans escaping his throat as Orange cards his fingers through his hair. Through stopping to pulse his tongue at the spot that makes Orange’s knees buckle. Through holding onto Orange’s thighs as he spills down his throat, keeping him steady and keeping him secure. Keeping him here.  
  
And when Orange hoists him up to meet him face to face, to kiss the taste of himself out of Chuck's mouth, he knows that his apology is accepted.


End file.
